


Hobbes

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Hollow Crown: The Wars of the Roses (2016), The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The Wars of the Roses Fiction, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood





	Hobbes

Fotheringhay Castle  
1446  
Prepare for the worst. 

That was what his father had told him when William Hobbes had told him that the Duke of York wanted to see him with some urgency. Prepare for dismissal, because finances are tight. Yes, after the defeat in France, and the Duke’s misfortune of having to fund a war they could not win, he was, to put it short, without his vast wealth. Whilst the king was in debt to the Duke, he was indeed unlikely to pay.  
That quite obviously meant the Duke would need to dismiss staff, it meant everyone’s job was to be reviewed. However valuable an asset.  
That was why he felt so sombre as he was led through the twisting narrow halls of Fotheringhay castle, through the vast great hall and into the Duke’s own solar. The man was sat, just sat, looking into nothingness when Hobbes arrived. The servant who had escorted him coughed gently and the Duke looked up, offered a winning smile before he stood. “That is all thank you John.” The young man bowed gently and left. “Please, take a seat.” The Duke extended a hand toward the settle.

Hobbes could not control his mind, could not stop the wheels turning, could not stop the thought that he would rather stand, rather not drag this out longer than necessary. Yet he could control his tongue, he simply nodded and walked toward the settle, turning as the Duke spoke once more.  
“Would you like a drink? I have wine, or ale.”

“Ale if that pleases you my lord.” 

“Ale it is.” Hobbes could not help in that moment but to resent and admire the Duke’s most cheerful tone. Admire because the man, always a cheerful man, could keep him joy even in such circumstances. Resentment too because he could keep his joy in such circumstances. How could one man dismiss another so loyal with a grin?  
That did not matter, it could not matter. He took the ale with a hand too tense. 

“You are nervous? This is quite unlike you.” York spoke gently, resting his hand on Hobbes bicep. “I have something I need to say to you.” York went and sat, looking at Hobbes as he leant forward slightly in his chair. “You are a brilliant surgeon, one of the best.” 

“I thank you my lord.” He blushed slightly, smiled and took a gulp of ale to wet his dry throat. 

“You know your father was in my service before you?”

“Of course.”

“And he too was an excellent surgeon, but not as skilled as you.” 

“I once again thank you my lord.”

“I believe, from what I am told you want to attend university, Oxford, Cambridge and learn medicine?”

“I do my lord.” Hobbes bit his lip with frustration, tasted blood. How could he do this? Discuss Hobbes’ own dreams whilst planning to dismiss him?  
York smiled, Hobbes tried to reciprocate. “I am in great need of a new physician.” Hobbes paused, the cup half way to his lips, he lowered it.

“Your grace?”

“It has been arranged that you should attend Oxford and complete your learning in Medicine, all funds have been allocated, and Hobbes, the condition is you come back and you work for me.” 

“Y.. Your grace?” He could not believe his ears, could not trust his hearing in that moment.

“It was not easy, they are reluctant to admit surgeons, but with my influence I twisted their arm.” 

“T.. Thank you your grace, thank you.”


End file.
